Periphery
by northernexposure
Summary: It's not the things you see. It's the things - the people - you don't.


**Periphery**

**A/N:** This features Harry and Ruth only vaguely, and it's not at all _Spooks_. Sorry.

**xxxx**

My Elsie used to laugh at me, always going on the bus. She liked the train, but I always preferred the roads. On the bus – you can see things, can't you? Watch the world passing by. And in London… you can stitch it all together, how the city fits into itself, like. Elsie, she'd put up with it because she knew I loved it so much, but she was never bothered, really. But then, I'd always go in lifts, wouldn't I, even though I didn't like them, because I knew she did. That's what made us such a great couple. We never had a problem with compromise. What one of us liked, the other went along with. Worked for us for fifty-odd years. Would have carried on working, too.

Of course, she's not with me now. Even when she was still here, the last few years, she couldn't get on one. It scared her, I think. Not the bus. Everything. Everything outside. So we used to stay in. And that was fine by me too, if that was what she wanted. Even when she was fading away from me, from the world, like. There we'd be, side by side, in our chairs.

So I didn't go on the buses for quite a long time.

When she was gone, it got so I didn't know what to do with myself. No one to look after. No one to cook for. The days always seem so long, don't they, when there's nothing much of anything to do? And nothing on the television. Just people shouting. I'm sure there's no need for so much shouting.

Then, one day, I decided to take a trip. I remembered that the council had sent me this thing called a Freedom Pass, you see. I'd never used it. It'd sat in the drawer for months, gathering dust. But I took it out and read the bumph that came with it, and it said I could get on a bus, and go anywhere. Free, like. And there isn't much left now, really, if I'm honest. Not after it got so I couldn't look after Elsie on my own. Help costs quite a lot, these days. That's not a problem, though. There's not much I need, now it's just me.

I didn't really have anywhere to go. But I thought I'd see what was out there. That first trip, I rode all the way up into town. And then I rode back again. Same bus. Very convenient.

Next day, I didn't have anything on. So I did it again. Different route, same idea. Rode it until it brought me back home again.

Next day, I took my sandwiches with me. And a little flask of tea.

So I kind of got into the habit. Better than sitting at home all day, at any rate.

**xxxx**

People do chat, sometimes. The other day this chap got on and came upstairs, puffing a bit. The bus was almost full, so he sat next to me. I'm not sure how it got started. The usual way, I suppose, a smile, a comment about the weather, or how busy the bus is. Maybe it was me. Sometimes I just get an itching to talk to someone. I try not to be a bother. A few words is enough, just to break it up a bit, you know. Anyway, he didn't seem to mind. He told me how he was signed off work because he was depressed, which he found to be very depressing. And now his girl had said she didn't want to marry him any more. She was supposed to be moving to London from up north, but now she wasn't. Funny how people move around these days. Time was you'd be born, and stay put.

He'd just got a Freedom Pass, too, off the council, on account of his depression. He was making the most of it, he said. He was going to volunteer somewhere, which he could afford to do if he didn't have to fork out for travel. That'd help him get ready for work again, he said, and he wanted to work. Hated sitting around, doing nothing. Like me in that, he was. You've got to get out, see places, haven't you? Can't just sit and stare at the wall.

He'd just been to the Natural History Museum, which had cheered him up no end. He had this little camera, just about the size of your hand. One of those ones where you can see the pictures you've taken on the back. No developing or anything. Not like my day, where you had to wait days to see if you'd managed to get anything good. We went along quite happily, going through his pictures. No one had ever shown me one of those gadgets before.

He'd have been about the age to be my son, I reckon, if Elsie and I had gone that route. Strange how these things pop into your head.

Anyway, nice chap he was, civil – he told me that I should go up there myself, take a look around. It's a good day out, he said, and it doesn't cost anything, not even for travel, if you've got the pass. I asked him if you could take your own sandwiches, but he wasn't sure, he was just going to have a sausage roll when he got back.

I think it's a bit far for me to walk around, really. But it's nice to know these places are out there, for the young folk.

And then another time, I found myself sitting next to this little girl. Well, I say little girl – when she spoke to me, I realised she wasn't school age, as I'd first thought. But she was so small, and timid, with big dark eyes. Nineteen maybe, she can't have been older. Long dark hair. Wearing a headscarf, as they do. She wasn't afraid to talk to me, though. I didn't think they were supposed to talk to men. Beautiful she was, you can see why her menfolk would want to keep her covered up. She had this clear plastic bag on her lap, with these tiny little biscuit things in it. She was eating them, very slowly, nibbling all around the edges, making them last. And every time she took a nibble, she smiled like a kid on Christmas day. Although I know they don't have Christmas day. I don't know what their equivalent is. I'm always worried to ask, in case I offend. The same like I wanted to talk to her, but I didn't want to get her into trouble if that wasn't done. You know, a man talking to her on public transport. I didn't want to cause any trouble.

But in the end, she talked to me. She looked up and said, "I am from Somalia. These are Somalian delicacy. I haven't had them for so long."

Beautiful English, she had. I smiled at her, and said, "Good you found them, then."

She smiled back, with all her beautiful white teeth showing. Her eyes were like big old pennies, and all over a biscuit. Made me think how lonely it must be, to come here, and to not even have a biscuit to remind you of home.

She made me try one. I said no at first – she shouldn't share them if they were hard to find. But she insisted. They always are hospitable, aren't they? Part of their culture, like. Wish it were part of ours. They tasted of cinnamon, and something I didn't recognise. She told me it was saffron. I've never had saffron before. She got off at Streatham, just outside the ice rink, and waved. I don't think she was going inside, though.

I still look for her, every time I pass that bus stop, but I've never seen her again. I can remember her smile though, and those little biscuits. Made my day, that did.

Could do with a biscuit now, actually. Maybe it's time for my sandwiches. Marmite today. And an apple.

**xxxx**

I used to drive a bus. It was different back then. It was during the war, for a start. After the Blitz, the roads were worse than country tracks. Pot holes the size of craters. They'd tear into the tyres, and before you knew it, that was it, they were gone. No spare rubber for repairs, either, except for once in a blue moon. No bacon or butter, neither. Although it was rare you got any decent bread anyway, so at least it was a complete favourite you were missing out on, if you see what I mean. Not like the stuff they told you was tea, but was worse than sawdust. Still, what was there to complain about? All those poor boys, they weren't never coming back for a bacon butty ever again, were they? Lost a lot of my friends, I did. I couldn't go, though. Gammy leg. Not right really, is it? A cripple, so I couldn't go to war. But here I am, still soldiering on, while all those boys…

I volunteered to drive the ambulances over there. I said, "If I can drive a bus on these roads, I can drive an ambulance, can't I?"

They said no.

All those boys that went. None of my lot came back.

**xxxx**

One night, last week, I saw something. I mean, I'm always seeing things… but this was different. Still not quite sure what it was. It was late. I was a long way from home. I'd changed at Lambeth Bridge and thought I'd go north for a change. Took me further out than I was expecting, but then, I like a change. I always choose a night bus route, anyway. That way I always know I can get back to my neck of the woods, no matter the time.

Not quite sure where we were, really. Passing one of the posher areas, I think, on the way to one of the poorer ones. Funny how that works, isn't it? Rich and poor, pressed up against one another so they can see into each other's houses, like. Doesn't seem right, somehow. For the poor ones, anyway. Life would be easier if you couldn't see what you'll never have.

It was raining. I like the rain. It reminds me of my Elsie. She always used to like walking in the wet. She'd drag on all her gear, her wellies and her raincoat and whatnot, and go marching into the rain, even when she had no reason to go out. At the end, it was the only thing she knew. I'd wheel her to the window the moment the first drop fell, and I swear that she'd watch it. When it rained, she looked like the Elsie I knew when she was just a girl. You know, when we first met. She'd hold my hand, too. Just like she used to.

The doctors didn't believe me. But I knew.

I was sitting near the back and this bloke got on and came upstairs. He was smartly dressed. No tie, but a raincoat that looked as if it hadn't seen much wear. No hat or umbrella, though. He was well-built, a bit chunky like, the wrong side of fifty, for sure. Not much hair left, and from what was left he must have been a right carrot-top back in the day. He looked as if he had a bob or two, which is why I clocked him right off. He didn't look like the sort who'd usually take the bus. Didn't look like he'd ever need to.

He took a seat down near the front, behind this lass who I'd seen get on at the bridge. She'd been reading a book all the way since. Quiet, like. Tranquil. I'd seen her come up the stairs, earlier. Strong face. Too beautiful to be pretty.

This chap sat behind her, and I just got this funny feeling. At first I thought he was going to be trouble, like he was going to hassle her. I didn't like that. Not when the lass was just sitting there, minding her own business. So I kept an eye on them. In case I could help, like. I've got my stick, you know. She'd probably got a sweetheart somewhere. I'd want the good people of the world to keep an eye on my sweetheart if she was out and about late at night, on her own. If she was still alive, of course. And she probably would have been out and about on a night like that, and all, would Elsie. In her younger days.

But she didn't seem worried by him. They talked for a moment, and then she looked around the bus. She wasn't looking for help, though. It was careful, like she knew what she was doing.

It was then I thought that maybe I was seeing something I shouldn't. And I swear, in the next moment she'd passed him something. Their fingers touched, stayed together just a little too long. Their hands curling together. And that was all it took. I didn't see what it was, didn't even see them do it. But I swear, it was there. One minute it was in her hand, the next it was in his.

Made me look at the two of them in a whole new light, I can tell you. The chap got off at the next stop. He leaned forward suddenly, as if he was going to kiss her cheek, but he didn't. It looked like he whispered something in her ear, instead. And then he was gone.

I watched her for a bit longer after that. She tried to read for a minute or two, but for the rest of the journey she just stared at the window. She can't have been able to see out of it, though. Not through the colours in the rain on the glass. It was like trying to see the night sky through a firework display. She got off a couple of stops before the end. I watched her as she went down the stairs. Her eyes were sad.

I still think about them. Wonder what they were up to. At first they looked like strangers, then like lovers, and then… then, I don't know. I think about her fingers, passing him whatever it was, and I wonder. All the secrets we've forgotten. All the secrets we'll never know.

I would have kissed her cheek.

**xxxx**

Usually, you see, I'm happy just to get on one of the longer routes and stay on it until the driver's shift has finished and they empty the bus. Although sometimes you can be really lucky, and even when he clocks off, they'll put another driver straight away, so you don't have to change buses. Not that it should really make any difference, should it, even if they did see me? I've got my pass, like. It's all paid for. But no one really takes any notice of a pensioner sitting quietly on the top deck, anyway. I suppose I just don't look threatening. Mothers with little kids – sometimes they can get a bit shifty, a bit suspicious. But I suppose that's only natural. Well, not natural, but you know what I mean.

But the drivers are usually all right. I just had this one, once. I guess I'd been on the Number 3 for a few hours. We were passing through Brixton for the fourth time, I think. We'd changed drivers once. The first chap, I recognised him. Seen him a few times. He grinned at me, said good morning. But the second chap, after an hour or so, he comes up at one of the stops along Croxted Road. Leafy place, that is. The Unigate has been derelict for years, I always wonder why they don't turn it into flats. Must be worth a fortune. But it's just standing there, gates all locked up, crumbling. Anyway, this chap, he comes up – and the bus is quite full – he comes up and stands right over me. Loomed, like. And he said, "What's your game?" and I said, "I haven't got a game. I've just got a newspaper and some sandwiches." But I don't think that's what he meant, because then he said, "I've been watching you. You were on here when I got this bus, and that was over an hour ago. Where are you going?" and I said "Nowhere." And he said, "This isn't a bloody morning room. It's a bus. For people with places to go and things to do."

He didn't make me get off. But I did, anyway, a bit further on. People were staring.

I forgot my sandwiches. Left them on the seat. Waste.

**xxxx**

Finding it a bit hard to get upstairs. Had a bit of a fall last week. Nothing much. It was stupid, really. Was bending down to pick up the post, and just toppled over. Felt something go in my hip. Haven't been to the doctors. They're always so busy, aren't they? I don't want to be a bother. I'm sure it's just a strain. But it's making me hobble a bit more than usual. I suppose that's just getting older. To be expected, really.

I don't think I'll be able to make it onto the top deck. Don't much like staying on the lower one. Too much bustling about. Too much coming and going. So I've just been staying put for a few days, like, 'til it sorts itself out.

Been watching the television a bit more, recently. Not much else to do, you see. Found some bits and pieces I like. All those detective things. They're quite good. I can usually follow what's going on. That Columbo, I like him. And the French chap. Funny moustache.

This room seems bigger with just one person in it.

**xxxx**

My hip's still not right, but I can manage stairs now, which is the main thing. Was going a bit mad being stuck in, I was. Needed to be around people. Funny how you miss that, even with the television. Not the same, really.

I saw her again, first trip out I took. The lass with the sad eyes. I thought I might. If I'm honest, that's why I went that way. When I was stuck in, I kept thinking about that first night I saw them – her, and the chap with red hair. It kept going round and round in my noggin, all the time I was waiting for my hip to sort itself out. Something odd about it. Not sure what…

She got on, took out her book. She was down near the front again. It wasn't raining this time, but it was cold. After a couple of stops, I went and sat beside her. She looked up and smiled, and then, before she had a chance to get back into her book, I said something. Can't recall what. Probably about the weather. Unseasonable, it is. She didn't cut me dead, like some people, so on I went.

Funny how the sound of your voice can take you unawares, like, if you haven't used it much for a bit.

Told me her name was Julia, and that she worked in a little department store in town. We went on, chatting about this and that. And then I said, "I'm not taking his seat, am I?" And she frowned, and said, "Whose seat?" and I said, "Your chap with the red hair. Saw him a few weeks back. I don't want to tread on his toes." She blinked and smiled. "Oh. Oh no. You won't. That was my boss. He usually locks up, you see, but that night he had to leave early, so I did. He needed the keys. But he doesn't usually take the bus." And I nodded, and said, "I didn't think he looked the sort." She laughed. It was a pretty laugh. I don't think she uses it much. "I hadn't thought of it like that before," she said.

We chatted a bit more, about this and that. And there was I thinking, _Well, there you go. Nothing odd at all. It was his keys. Just his keys._ And I could hear my Elsie tutting at me, telling me I'd been watching too much _Columbo _and whatnot. I don't know why I was disappointed. What else would it have been?

Julia got off a couple of stops before the end, like before. Down on the pavement, I saw her look up at me for a moment, as she rummaged in her bag. I waved, but by then she was fiddling with her phone, and didn't see. Probably calling her hubby to pick her up, I expect. Although I can't recall seeing a ring.

I've done that route a couple of times since, but I haven't seen her again.

Maybe her shift changed.

**xxxx**

Lost my pass yesterday. Well, I say I lost it… but it was them boys that took it. Can't have been more than 16, any of them. There were four, all wearing their hoods up. Should have known they were going to be trouble. They came on, all loud like, music blaring, and started hassling one of the girls. Right terrified, she was. Only little.

I told them to leave her alone. They laughed at me. I shook my stick at them, but one of them grabbed it. Chucked it out the window, just like that. Saw it bounce of a car bonnet. Could have been nasty, that.

The bus driver must have seen what was going on, pulled over. By that time they'd pushed me over. Felt my hip go again. Hurt like buggery. They went rushing down the stairs, nearly ran right over him, the driver said.

Plenty of people on the top deck. Happy to help afterwards. Good of them. One of them told me I was lucky, got off lightly. Then they clapped. Not sure why. I wanted to find my stick, but they kept telling me not to worry about it, it was gone. I could get another one. But they didn't understand. It didn't look like anything to them, you see. Just a stick.

It was my Elsie's stick.

Wasn't until I got home, I realised my wallet was gone. Not much in it, really. Enough for some milk. And my pass.

Sitting's not easy at the moment. Think I'll have a bit of a lie down.

**xxxx**

The council say they can't give me another pass. That scheme's finished, they said. I was lucky to have it while I did, apparently. Cut backs, like. I suppose we're all tightening our belts.

Ah, well. My leg's not been great lately, if I'm honest. At least I can still sit in my chair.

I watch the bus go past, sometimes, just outside my window. Still, everything changes, doesn't it?

_Columbo_'s on in a minute. Maybe it'll be one I haven't seen.

[END]


End file.
